I Deduce That You Like Me?
by BoboTheBookworm
Summary: (Oh my goodness, that title is so terrible. I'm so sorry.) John is the one who's bored for once, and Sherlock's out, so John tries to play the violin. Sherlock comes home to hear a dying cat (sorry, John) and quickly comes to the rescue, and teaches John the classic instrument. Enjoy some Johnlock!


**I WAS READING JOHNLOCK AND I WAS LOOKING AT JOHNLOCK AND I WAS WATCHING JOHNLOCK SO I WROTE JOHNLOCK.**

**Disclaimer: I didn't create Johnlock. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat did. (I don't care that it isn't canon. They created Johnlock, and they can not say they didn't, because that would be a lie.)**

John finally typed the last words for his latest addition to his blog. He quickly read it through as to make sure he didn't make any spelling or grammar errors, or if he'd forgotten something. Once he'd done that, he hit the little blue post button. He sighed, and leaned back in his chair.

His eyes flickered across the flat, looking for something to do. He looked at some of Sherlock's experiments which were scattered across the kitchen table. He looked at the skull on the fireplace, at the yellow smiley face on the wall.

He looked over at his bookshelf and remembered the book he'd been reading last night. He stood up and walked over to the shelf, and flitted his gaze across it, looking for the familiar title.

When he couldn't find it, he frowned. He left the living room and went to his bedroom, and looked around his bed and his nightstand, and still he couldn't find it.

He almost shouted Sherlock's name to help him (as if he would), but then he remembered Sherlock had left an hour ago, to do God knows what.

John glanced around the room as a last measly attempt to find the book, but then gave up. He walked back into the living room, and fell back into his chair. He threw his head against the back of the chair and groaned. Usually it was Sherlock who's bored, not John. He picked up a nearby newspaper and scanned through it, but the most interesting thing in it was a restaurant opening up down the street, which he really couldn't care less about.

He threw the paper back down, then picked up his laptop again. He opened it up and typed in the password, and looked at his blog. His new post had already gotten a few views. He opened a new tab, and thought about what he could do to end his boredom. He logged on to some of his social media, but of course, with his luck, nothing interesting was happening on any of those either. Finally, he shut the laptop and put it back on the table. For once, he was actually almost _hoping_ a murder would happen, however vile that sounded.

John's eyes finally landed on Sherlock's music stand and violin standing in front of the window. Hesitantly, he stood up, and walked over to it. He picked up the violin and bow, and placed it between his chin and shoulder. He slid the bow across the strings, and although the instrument was in tune, it let out a horrifying screeching noise, causing John to shudder suddenly. He pulled the violin away from himself, and looked at the music sheet, trying to decipher the music, though he'd never played an instrument in his life.

John walked across the room and back to his laptop, still holding Sherlock's violin. He opened a new tab and typed in the search bar "violin tutorial." He watched the first video, which confused him greatly. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched the instructor talk and play. John shook his head and tried a few different videos. He eventually found one that explained things a bit better, so he watched it a few times, trying to take in the information.

After watching the video at least six times, he brought the violin back up to his chin, and tried sliding the bow across the strings, and holding his fingers down at the end, but it still sounded absolutely terrible, with its uneven screeches. He grimaced and looked at what the man was doing on the screen. He adjusted his fingers on the end of the violin, then tried again. It sounded a little better, but hardly. He squinted at the screen, and groaned. How the hell did Sherlock do this? And he did it so well, too! John shook his head, and plucked a string instead, just to see if it was actually tuned. He was pretty sure it was (at least, it sounded like it was.) Maybe he was just awful at this. No, he was _definitely _awful at this. He groaned.

Sherlock stepped out of the cab, and fished out his key to 221B. He inserted into the lock, and twisted it to the left, and opened the door. He stepped inside, and began walking up the stairs, only to slowly be greeted by wretched screeching. Sherlock began pounding up the stairs as he recognized the noise. He flung open the door to his and John's flat and stormed into the living room, not even bothering to put up his coat and scarf.

His flat-mate spun around, his eyes wide in shock. "Sherlo-"

"What the _hell_ are you doing to my violin?"

"I was trying to learn!" John shouted defensively. "I've been out of my mind, and I couldn't find my book, I needed to do _something."_ Sherlock shook his head at John. "Not play my violin! I've got the gun, you could have used that."

"I'm not going to shoot the wall, Sherlock."

"Boring," Sherlock scoffed. "Alright, fine. But what were you even trying to play? Tell me you didn't look at my music sheet- No, of course, you did. John!" he said, seeing John's guilty face. John shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, Sherlock. If I'd known you were going to get mad, I wouldn't have-"

"No, no, it's fine," Sherlock muttered, waving John off. "But what _were _you even doing? That was absolutely terrible. For God's sake, John, you're even holding the bow wrong!" Sherlock ripped the bow from John's hand, and placed his fingers around it properly. He held it up to John. "See, this is how it's done. You were wrapping your entire hand around it-" Sherlock paused, and he held the bow closer to his face, scrutinizing it. John stared at him, confused, until Sherlock groaned, and began waving it around like a madman. "John, you didn't even put rosin on the bow!" He plucked off his gloves and tossed them on the sofa, then grabbed the rosin block from the stand and ran it along the bow.

"Rosin? You're supposed to do that?" John asked, utterly confused. The instructor in the video hadn't even mentioned that.

"I haven't played it in days, of course you are! God, you really are hopeless." John crossed his arms, getting a little annoyed by Sherlock's irritation and insults. "I've never played before, how was I supposed to know?"

"It's so _obvious._ How else are you supposed to make a proper sound?" Sherlock took the violin from John and slid the bow across the strings just as John had (except much smoother, of course) and it sounded much better, brilliant, actually, and John held back an eye roll. "It only sounds better because you've played your whole life," he said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and handed John the violin and bow, and motioned for him to play a couple of notes. John sighed and took the bow and raised it to the violin. "No, no, no," Sherlock said, frustration clear in his voice. He took the bow and grabbed John's fingers in his own, and placed them around the end correctly. John's cheeks turned a light pink as he did so. Sherlock stepped back and looked at John expectantly. "Go," he said impatiently.

John sighed, and brought it up to the instrument, and let the strings of the bow skate across those of the violin, and it did sound better, even if it did sound uneven and still shrilled a bit. He glanced up at Sherlock, who had a smirk on his face. "Don't say-" John started, but Sherlock interrupted him. "I told you so." John sighed exasperatedly, and groaned, "Sherlock," which only made the consulting detective's smirk grow.

"Now, that you've realized I was right, try to actually play something."

"Sherlock, how on Earth am I supposed to be able to play something? I don't know how to play this thing at all."

"Yes, well, you _were _looking at a YouTube tutorial, which would hardly teach you anything." He simply crossed his arms, waiting for John to at least attempt something. Of course, John didn't want to play anything in front of Sherlock, considering how good he was at it, so he hesitated.

"For goodness' sake, I'm already expecting you to be awful, you don't have to worry about disappointing me." John looked up at Sherlock, rolling his eyes. "Can you not deduce me twenty-four-seven?"

"Oh, please, John, even _Anderson_ could have understood that look." He paused. "Well, maybe, probably not." John shook his head, chuckling about the Anderson comment.

"Alright, fine," he murmured, placing the violin between his chin and shoulder for the hundredth time. He pressed the bow against the strings, trying to make it sound at least decent, but failing. The instrument screamed and made sounds resembling nails on a chalkboard. Sherlock grimaced, as did John, and he stopped playing, bringing the violin back to his side.

Sherlock sighed, then pushed it back to John's chin, and moved behind him. He took John's hand with the bow in it, and guided it to the instrument, and set it on the strings. John's face felt like it had burst into flames because of the closeness.

"What?" Sherlock said, confused about why John had suddenly stiffened and started turning crimson.

"Er, Sherlock, I kind of like personal space," John said, raising an eyebrow, turning his head a quarter of an inch towards the towering man. Sherlock scoffed. "Oh, please. You normal people and your stupid 'personal bubbles.' Get over it." John took a deep breath and turned back to the violin, still a little pink. Sherlock turned himself to the left a bit, and led John's hand back and forth, to form for once, instead of noise, actual music.

Ever so slowly, John relaxed, as Sherlock helped him play a song. He didn't have the slightest idea of what the song was, but it sounded nice. He spared a glance at Sherlock, whose eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. He paid no attention to John, only to playing the correct notes. John gulped, and turned his own attention back to the song, listening to the sweet sound, to the pitch and length of each note.

There was a quiet knock on the door, not that either of the men noticed. Mrs. Hudson nudged open the door gently, holding some mail. She stopped in the doorway as she saw the two figures with the violin. She smiled knowingly, quietly placed the mail on the stand near the door, and left, gently shutting the door, off to tell Mrs. Turner.

The boys' song finally ended, and John opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock launched right into another song. This one was quick and furious. His and John's hands moved at lightning-speed, playing a fast and lively tune. John's eyes widened and he glanced at Sherlock, who looked even more focused now. _Jesus Christ, he's good_, John thought. He would've thought he would be in the way and mess Sherlock up, but it didn't seem to shake Sherlock's skills at all. The song was sharp and speedy, and John was thoroughly amazed. He looked up at Sherlock in awe, who didn't notice. He stared at Sherlock, whose face was mere inches from his own, and he began to feel his stomach twist and turn. But not in a sick or guilty way, not like he was going to vomit. Instead, it was a pleasant twisting and turning, like butterflies in his stomach.

John slowly realized what was happening, and his eyes widened. He looked right back at the violin. _Oh, no, no, no, you stop right now, John Watson,_ he thought to himself. _You are not getting _butterflies _from Sherlock Holmes! That's ridiculous. You're just uncomfortable being so close to someone. Yes, that's it._

But the fluttering in his stomach only increased as the song continued, and it slowed down from its fifty-miles-per-hour pace. It became less loud and soon became soft, the chords sounding absolutely beautiful, and John relaxed beside Sherlock even more, even as his mind fought against it. _John, no! You can _not _like Sherlock like this! You're not gay, remember?_

His and Sherlock's arms moved in sync, and John felt his heartbeat quicken as Sherlock took a slight step to adjust himself around John better. John was awed by how his heart and mind were acting. _Liking Sherlock? How could I like him? It's impossible._ He glanced at Sherlock again, who once again, paid no attention, and his heart skipped a beat. _John, what are you doing? You can't like Sherlock! You aren't gay, think of what all your friends would think? What about the girl who flirted with you the other day? Didn't you like her better than Sherlock? You can't like him, he's… Well, he's Sherlock! What has gotten into you?_

"Shut up," he muttered. The music instantly ceased as Sherlock stopped. "What was that?"

John's eyes widened. "Oh, um, nothing. I didn't realize I was speaking aloud. Sorry." Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. He released his grip of John's hands and the violin, and stepped away from John, retreating to the kitchen. John immediately realized he wanted Sherlock's arms around him again. He shook his head at his thoughts. He can't like Sherlock, or rather, he shouldn't. Sherlock hated feelings, he thought they were a distraction. But even as John thought this, he knew it wasn't true. Sherlock had feelings, he just didn't like to show them.

Sherlock looked over at John, who was still stood where he left him. He looked frozen in the spot, and he looked very conflicted. He watched as John finally moved and put down the violin and bow by the music stand, and went to sit down in his chair. If Sherlock was honest with himself, he sort of wished he hadn't just left John. He actually found… comfort… in having his arms around John. But when John had snapped him out of his daze when he spoke, he had realized how relaxed and how comfortable he was with John, and it scared him a little bit. Huh, imagine, Sherlock Holmes, scared? That's what most people would think, isn't it? Sherlock Holmes, he knows how to _feel?_ He's actually, what, _human?_ What? Well, of course, he has feelings, and believe it or not, even with his brilliant mind, he is indeed human. But feelings made him feel vulnerable. Feelings would let him get hurt. So as soon as he realized he might be getting _feelings- romantic _feelings- for John, well, he panicked. He didn't want to get hurt by John, his first friend in years, his best friend, his _only _friend.

Sherlock finally came out of his thoughts, and he looked over at John, who had complete and utter frustration on his face. He looked very annoyed, but by what? By the way his eyes weren't really looking anywhere, how his facial expression was constantly changing, Sherlock assumed it was John himself who was annoying him. Sherlock was tempted to ask what was wrong, but then again, comforting people was never really his forte. He decided to stay silent.

That is, until John groaned loudly, and pounded his fist into the arm of his chair, which even Sherlock couldn't pretend to ignore. "What is it?" he said, calling John's attention. The doctor just shook his head unhelpfully. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

"Sarcastic much?"

"Hiding things much?"

"Oh, please, I'm sure you could figure it out if you tried. If you bothered to."

Sherlock stared at John in the eyes, then slowly began deducing. "Sherlock, I wasn't serious! Stop it!" Sherlock ignored him, and squinted his eyes. John gulped, which Sherlock noticed. _He's nervous, he doesn't want me to figure it out._ This only intrigued Sherlock more. He walked into the living room, and sat down across from him John, trying to figure it out. "Sherlock-"

"Hush." John's eyes avoided Sherlock's, and pulled out his phone, as if to dismiss Sherlock. He opened his contacts and, glancing at Sherlock, opened one of his more recent girlfriends. He shifted uncomfortably, and kept glancing at Sherlock, and pretended to text the woman. As Sherlock stared at the phone and John realized this, he continued to act busy and opened up another girlfriend's, scrolling right past his own, Mycroft's, and Lestrade's. _Past all the men. Glancing up suspiciously when he scrolled past mine. Isn't actually texting anyone, just pretending to… Scrolling past the men, and looking up suspiciously when he passed Sherlock's._

Sherlock slowly looked up at John, who was avoiding eye contact at all costs. "John." His friend gulped. "Hm, uh, yes?"

"I… believe… I believe I've figured it out," Sherlock said slowly and hesitantly, which was _very _rare for him.

"And? What's your theory?" John sounded a bit terrified to find out whether Sherlock knew or not.

"You scrolled past all the men on your phone, only opening the women's contacts," Sherlock said, looking at the floor, now avoiding John's eyes, "However, you did nothing with them, instead just tried to avoid looking at me. Whenever you passed mine, however, you looked up at me, as if to see if I was noticing what you were doing, which I did, of course. I deduce that… You were trying to make it seem as you wanted to contact the females on your phone, strictly not males, as to not make me think that you were…" He looked up at John, straight in the eyes. "That you were trying to hide the fact that you are gay, and that you might possibly... Like me. And you didn't want to believe that, and that's why you seemed upset with yourself. Am I correct?"

John was silent for a long time, as Sherlock got each and every fact correct. He gulped, and mumbled something, which Sherlock didn't hear. "Hm?"

"Yes! You're correct! Of _course_ you're right! I fancy you! Is that what you wanted to hear, Sherlock?" John shouted, fuming. "That you're right, just like you always are?" Sherlock was silent, trying to think of what to say, and how to confess his feelings. If John liked him, then well, maybe he could let some of his feelings show for once.

John took Sherlock's silence as a confirmation of his words. He scoffed and stood up, storming towards the door. "Wait, where are you going?" Sherlock questioned as John shrugged on his coat.

"I don't know, somewhere."

"John."

"No, Sherlock, just leave me alone, alright? You're probably repulsed now."

"John-"

"No, Sherlock, I'm leaving."

"John!" Sherlock darted towards him as he turned the doorknob. He grabbed John's arm and yanked him away from the door. "Sherlock-"

"Yes."

John shook his head, shutting his eyes. "What?"

"Yes, that is what I wanted to hear."

John scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course it was. You always want to be right, you always _have _to be right, that's all you care about! Not people's feelings, or-"

Sherlock groaned, frustrated that John wasn't getting it. "No, John, that isn't what I meant. I meant- I, I meant that… Erm…" John shook his head. "What?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face. "I… I don't really know how to tell you." "Tell me what?" John questioned, less annoyance in his voice. Now he was becoming concerned because now Sherlock seemed to be the one who was conflicted.

Sherlock groaned again. "I don't know! I'm not good at this!" "Good at what? Sherlock, I need at least a little explanation," John said, crossing his arms. "The whole feelings thing," Sherlock whined. "I'm not good at it."

"Feel…" John trailed off, confused at first, until he realized what Sherlock was saying. He shifted his body, so he was directly facing Sherlock. "Sherlock, would it help if I said you don't have to say it? Just… Show me?"

"I…" Sherlock mumbled. "I don't think I should, I-"

"Oh, for God's sake." John yanked Sherlock down by his scarf, and pressed his lips onto Sherlock's. Sherlock stiffened in surprise, but eventually, he relaxed. He wrapped his arms around John's waist and hesitantly kissed back, not used to this action at all. In fact, the only time he'd ever kissed a woman was when he kissed whatshername, Janine, and it's not like he actually _wanted _to do that. It'd all been an act. Kissing John, however, well, he enjoyed that quite a bit more. (Complete understatement, by the way.) John let go of Sherlock's arms and instead let one hand cup Sherlock's cheek, and the other arm wrap around his neck, holding him close.

Suddenly, the taller man stepped back. "Hold on. This isn't working." John's smile fell, as Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen. "But-" He stopped as Sherlock walked back in with a step-stool in his hands, a wide smile on his face. John gave him a look, chuckling and shaking his head. "Are you serious?"

The detective nodded with the same adorable smile on his face (you know the one), and gently set the stool down on the floor, motioning for John to stand on it. "You are absolutely ridiculous," John laughed, stepping up onto it, so he was now even height with Sherlock, whose eyes were twinkling. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso, and kissed him once again, and now Sherlock kissed back without any hesitation, hugging John tight to his chest. As he did this, he thought, _maybe Mycroft was wrong. Maybe caring _does _have an advantage._

* * *

"So? What do you think?" John asked. "Shall I post it?"

"That was all so… cheesy!" Sherlock complained.

"Well, that _is _what happened."

"You made me sound like an idiot."

"You _are _an idiot, Sherlock," John said, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock's jaw dropped. "I am not!"

"Relax, Sherlock," John said, patting his arm. "At least you're _my _idiot." Sherlock opened his mouth, but John waved him off, grimacing. "No, don't, I know that was disgustingly cheesy." Sherlock nodded, confirming what he had been about to say.

"So, should I post it?" John asked again. "Yes, fine, but in your next post, try to make me sound like less of an idiot, alright?"

"I'm pretty sure that's impossible." John giggled at Sherlock's glare, and he held his hands up, shrugging. "Ha, ha," Sherlock mocked, making a face. John chuckled and pecked Sherlock on the cheek. "Kidding!" he said. He faced the computer and hit the little blue post button with a mumbled, "Mostly."

**Whaddya think? I'm not sure if they were OOC at all, I feel like they were a little. :/ But tell me what you think! :)**


End file.
